Scent of Betrayal, Law of the Pack

So he wanted me to accept his Omega consort into our bond—and then tolerate her presence within our territory.

I laughed. Actually laughed.

But Rogan wasn't wrong about one thing.

I really couldn't stand a single grain of sand in my eye.

So when Raven sent over Lyra's scent-trail dossier—and received the mirror-orb recordings and captured images I'd forwarded—she called me through the pack link, already laughing.

"I have to say, Rogan found himself a real idiot!"

"We didn't even need to go digging for evidence. She gift-wrapped it and handed it right to us!"

Raven's laughter rang through the connection.

"Those recordings alone are enough to bury Rogan before the Pack Council. And then there's your bonded territory rights."

"Also," she asked, "when your parents pledged their territory collateral for his pack's founding, didn't he sign a blood-oath debt?"

He had.

Rogan had insisted on making that oath. He'd made me witness the entire ritual—said it was to give my bloodline peace of mind.

Even when my parents refused, even when I said it really wasn't necessary.

Rogan wouldn't budge.

"Selene."

"I don't want anyone thinking I'm taking advantage of your bloodline."

"Keep this safe. It's your protection for the future."

Now.

I stared at that blood-oath scroll in my hands, at the crystal containing the recorded ritual, listening to Raven say—

"With all this—"

"There's more."

I cut her off. I pulled out the pack registration documents from when Rogan founded his territory. He'd consulted some moon-seer back then, who said my birth stars were more auspicious, better for drawing prosperity and strong alliances. So he'd registered the pack holdings under my name.

Including every piece of territory we claimed together.

I spread everything across the stone table.

"This is enough to make Rogan come crawling."

I told Raven.

"I don't just want Rogan left with nothing. I want his reputation shredded before every Pack Council in the region."

I returned to the waystation den Rogan and I had shared for three years. At the threshold, there it was—moonflowers Rogan had prepared for me. Withered now, their silver petals blackened and unrecognizable, with a carved token resting on top:

Hope my mate finds joy forever.

A small wolf sigil etched in the corner.

Rogan used to bring me fresh moonflowers every single day. Five years straight, without fail.

Now.

I watched him stride in carrying a fresh bundle, his expression perfectly calm as his amber eyes met mine.

"Selene."

As if nothing had happened, he set the flowers on the threshold altar and tossed the dead blooms into the refuse pit.

"We're bonded mates—one pack, one soul. Those females out there? They're just entertainment."

"You should understand that." He stepped closer. "Can we stop this nonsense?"

The scent clinging to his fur wasn't mine.

That cloying sweetness of another Omega's heat-musk turned my stomach. I stepped back instinctively, and my clawed hand connected with his face before I could think. I threw the bond severance agreement at him.

"Rogan."

"Scent-betrayal during our mating bond. Fraudulent transfer of pack resources. Every tribute you spent on Lyra." My voice was ice. "You have two choices."

I watched his expression freeze.

"Option one: sign, and we sever our bond with dignity."

Rogan picked up the agreement, staring at me in disbelief.

"Option two: fight me before the Pack Council." I held his stunned gaze. "Less dignified, but you'll still walk away with nothing."

Rogan ripped the parchment in half with a violent jerk. A cold laugh escaped him.

"Selene!"

"You're dreaming!"

"Walk away with nothing?"

"Who the hell do you think you are!"

He flung the shredded agreement into the air. Fragments drifted down like ash, scattering across the den floor.

I watched his face darken to thunder as he closed in on me, every word bitten off through elongating fangs.

"You want me to leave with nothing?"

"Not. A. Chance."

He opened his mouth to say more, but his communication stone exploded with urgent pulses. Irritated, he glanced at the sender's mark, jabbed the activation rune, and bellowed into the glowing surface—

"What is it!"

Then—

I watched the color drain from Rogan's face inch by inch until he was deathly pale, staring at me in disbelief.